


Harry the Business Mogul

by LadyHallen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Don't repost, Gen, One-Shot, Time Travel, do not copy to another site, harry makes things, my excuse for worldbuilding, surprise cameo! - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27364165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHallen/pseuds/LadyHallen
Summary: He arrives without much fanfare, only the sudden silence of the forest announcing his arrival.
Relationships: Harry Potter & a dozen OC's, Harry Potter & a million house elves
Comments: 46
Kudos: 361





	Harry the Business Mogul

He arrives without much fanfare, only the sudden silence of the forest announcing his arrival. For a moment, no creature dares to make a sound.

And then the green-eyed man sighs, looking around the ancient trees with fondness and not even doing a double take at the crossbows and creatures with multiple eyes and pincers staring at him.

He bows in their direction and left without stirring a thing.

After a moment, sound resumes again, all the more louder as though making up for their silence.

“Mars is bright,” the centaur says, not nonchalant but very much unnerved. “We must make more arrows.”

.

* * *

.

He is registered as Harrison Peters within two days.

The Ministry of Magic is full of the corrupt and the easily bribed and five hundred galleons fabricate a story easily. His mother had been a muggle, his father a two-timing bastard with a penchant for leaving a string of women pregnant – except he had managed to track his uncle down and get a stipend of money.

He buys a house in central London, an establishment on Diagon Alley and another house in Hogsmeade, staffing it with three house elves per house and tasking them to digging under the house a large basement that could comfortably house three hundred people. It would house even more, since Undetectable Expansion Charms were a thing.

He starts appearing in the ministry as a quiet, distinguished gentleman. He is almost too old or too young to gain much attention, but if someone were to point out Mr. Peters, they would remember his green eyes.

They would not remember the advice he gives the Minister about new laws pushing for werewolf jobs – his voice is too quiet and generic for that. They would not remember the little compulsion he spells the Minister – the Elder wand is too great for that. They would not remember the subclause he manages to make the Minister write in the Wizangamot laws, that no one under the age of seventeen may be tried with a full court less the person doing so will lose their magic entirely.

Harrison Peters, who had once been Harry Potter, does this over the course of three months.

.

* * *

.

The problem with being Harry Potter, Master of Death, is that there is an excess of magic in him. If he does not contain it, it will devour the world.

He does not realize this, naively thinking that his dear Hedwig was special. It is not until the nine house-elves in his employ gain back lost years, grow hair and shoot up inches does he realize that he is the common factor. _He_ causes things bonded to him to change. Mostly because his magic is spilling across the bond and causing changes.

“I have to do something,” Harrison says after he realizes this.

.

All projects that he had to do personally are postponed.

Harry goes to the House-elf registry and purchases the ownership of three more house-elves looking on the verge of death. Now that he is aware of it, he sees what happens after he signs the contact and feels new cards coming into play.

“My name is Harry,” he tells his new charges. They all watch him with glazed, tired eyes that are slowly coming to understand that he had just given them a lifeline. “With company, you will call me Master Peters. Your job is to be my hands and feet.”

He takes their tired hands and whisks them to the underground basement of the Hogsmeade house.

.

* * *

.

Feeding and housing people will require funds.

While Harrison could manipulate events to his liking, going too far will skew things in the wrong direction and he will have a harder time anticipating things.

He instructs his house elves to garden food and to do it quickly. It would tax the earth, but he is consciously channeling magic into it every morning to help along.

He then sells it to the muggle world, where food is a bit more pricey than in the magical world. He loses some profit in converting it into Galleons, but the speed in which he accumulates money is astounding.

It is not, however, smooth sailing.

Wherever money goes, there is always attention. Unless you bribe enough people, there will always be gossip.

The first curve ball the past throws at him is in the form of an owl tapping his window in the early morning, carrying a heavy letter.

With a heave, Harrison gets out of bed and opens the letter after instructing his house-elves to take care of the owl. He is bewildered at the contents of the letter and tries not to look too stupid in front of his personal house-elf.

“It is a request for donation,” he says to the elf. Its eyes are attentive and large, gleaming with intelligence. “Why on earth would they ask me? And how do they know my name? I made sure of it…”

The elf’s peeks over his shoulder and nods. “They must have gotten a copy of anyone attending the Wizengamot sessions.”

Harrison pauses and the elf stops with him, the garment they are both cleaning suspended in the air in between them.

“That…yes, that could work. I’d want to charm the document too, but then someone will get suspicious.”

The elf sighs at him. “You are suspicious wizard. You are a mess without us.”

And the elf goes away to get him breakfast. Harry stares at where he had been, torn between admiration at his improved grammar and reasoning and…well…irritation at his improved grammar and reasoning.

Harrison’s first reaction is to ignore the request for a donation, but he has qualms. Anyone asking for help should at least get a second look, mostly for being brave enough to ask for help in the first place.

“Well, there goes my itinerary for the day,” he sighs.

.

* * *

.

The request for donation is for a wizarding orphanage.

Harrison tries not to stare at the state of it and instead interviews the matron on what the hell she thinks she’s doing.

Food, yes, he can donate food. He has warehouses full of food. Clothes are cheaper in the muggle world so that could work too.

But how could she allow the building to get in such a state of disrepair? It’s preposterous and the only reason he will accept is that she is a squib. Anything else is just incompetence and laziness.

“You are the matron for this orphanage?” he asks the thin, frazzled woman. “I have a problem. Why on earth does your building look like this? Are you a witch or a squib?”

The woman bursts into tears.

“I am a witch,” she says to him through hiccups of tears. Harrison is always uncomfortable with tears, but he won’t allow it to deflect him. “But this orphanage is privately owned by the Nott’s. I can’t, I can’t do anything without their approval.”

To Harrison’s knowledge, a matron manages everything in the orphanage and just reports it to whoever. But it seemed like the noose on her neck is tighter than anything. And it pisses him off even more.

“Why did you write me this letter then?” he demands.

She turns white. And glances back at the child hiding behind the support beam, eavesdropping.

“I didn’t write it,” she whispers with bloodless lips. “I’m not allowed to. But the children are…”

Guts and bravery. Harrison will always admire anyone brave enough to ask. Slytherins may say that only a coward asks for help. But he will always know that while it may take pride and strength to stand against problems, it takes bravery and wisdom to know when to ask for help.

Almost against his will, a smile comes on his face.

“Give me three days, madame,” he says to her. It must be a sufficiently kind smile because some color returns to her face. “Three days.”

In the meantime, he signals one of his personal house elves to take care of everything.

She may not be allowed to do anything, but no one ever said a thing about outside interference.

**.**

* * *

**.**

Harrison takes one day to gather information, one day to learn his target, another two hours to plot a course of action. On the third day, he successfully conned the Nott Family Head to sign over four orphanages to him.

It is completely not in his plans, but needs must.

He buys eight other house-elves and bonds them. He sends them to whoever needs it most. An orphanage with a leaky roof and almost no insulation gets two house elves. The orphanage with a flooded basement and almost rotted food stores gets three. The one he had visited gets one and last one orphanage that just straight up pissed him off – because the matron had reported the need for _blankets_ – gets two.

Harrison takes a breather after that just to calm down his nerves. The very state of the magical children had given him flashbacks to his own childhood and it had not been pretty.

His magic is volatile and did not like anything that made him feel that angry. It had whipped his house-elves into agitation. He had never seen so many pastries in his life. (His house-elves stress baked! It made him laugh.)

“Fern,” he says to his personal house-elf. “Report to me the state of the children every month, alright? All their needs must be met. They must be in _comfort_ , not just fine.”

The head house-elf nods seriously.

.

* * *

.

With the orphanage business out of the way, he focuses back on his farms.

Profit is cut back given that he is now supplying the orphanages with food. He is still earning, but not as much.

“We’ll need more land,” he announces to his elves.

They look gleeful at the prospect of more work and he shakes his head ruefully.

“Maybe we can add animals to this operation, though we can’t actually use magic to make them reproduce faster,” he muses. “Unless you guys have a way to make the cows, sheep and goats give birth to twins and triplets?”

The elves exchange looks and they start shifting on their feet.

“Well?”

The more outspoken elf says, “We can do it, but the mother dies faster.”

Of course it would be detrimental to the health of the mother. But he is a wizard and there is a potion for that. Still, he would have to give the mother six months of peacefully grazing and nursing the baby.

“Alright,” he nods. “I can do that. But…it seems I’ll have to hire a potions master for this. Or just buy the Rejuvenation Potion in bulk.”

Harrison does not just buy another farm; he buys the entire stretch of mountain and fifty hectares of the land by the shadow of its feet.

Half of the land is for grazing and the other half is for farming. His elves are ecstatic for more work but are wise enough to admit that more elf-power might be needed.

He hires ten more elves, bond with them, and leaves them at the mercy of Fern who receives them with all the dignity of a seasoned general with new troops.

.

* * *

.

With the appropriate amount, Harrison starts going to work.

His Hogsmeade house has finished with the construction of its underground basement, more of a bunker at this point. He casts the Undetectable Extension Charm and makes it two hundred times larger than its usual size.

Filling it with furniture, non-perishable food, medicine, bandages and potions is the reason for his need of so much money. Magic might smooth things, but if he wants it to last, he will have to do it by hand, and that means hiring professionals.

Muggles are, of course, masters of doing things by hand and Harrison outfits his underground bunker of several dozen beds, hammocks and camping bags. Non-perishable food – grains and what not – is stored in barrels with charms to keep away rodents. Perishable food and things likely to spoil, are preserved by the elves in the cold storage rooms. Muggle and magical medicine are stored in different shelves, with charms to protect them from possible degradation.

It is at this point that Harrison’s permit for his Diagon Alley establishment comes through and he has another thing on his plate.

.

Many, many years into the future, an immense number of muggleborns and half-bloods died because they didn’t know how to survive being hunted down by Death Eaters, Snatchers and Voldemort.

Harry and Ron survived by virtue of Hermione, because she prepared and actually knew what she was getting into. Hermione planned, plotted and was the reason why the Horcrux Hunt survived at all.

A large number of people who ran from the new regime didn’t survive, because they didn’t know the appropriate charms, the spells or the enchantments to hide them from view while giving them comfort. (Wizards are really all about comfort. Voldemort didn’t have to hole up in Malfoy Manor, but really…)

Harrison plans to stop that. He plans to make sure that even if he can’t save them all, he can give them the means to save themselves.

His new shop, Travel Guide, is how he plans to go about it.

It’s a small shop, hardly impressive like the Leaky Cauldron or the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. There is a modest display with appropriately catchy colors, interactive maps and historical impressive places in the wizarding world. It’s actually quite amusing, given that Harrison is pretending that his store is a travel company when it’s actually a survival guide company.

Still, to be safe, he places a ward on the premises. Only those who need it will find his shop. And it’s also very eye-catching to muggleborns and uninformed half-bloods. After all, navigating through the wizarding world unknowing is like a battlefield all on itself.

Harrison writes pamphlets about the wizarding world, the little things that wizards take for granted but things muggleborns wouldn’t know.

_Wizarding Villages and where to find prime real estate_

_Charms that save money_

_Potions tips that save your fingers_

_Wands: Tips and Tricks on how to cast better_

_Camping made easy_

_Politics: How the Wizengamot does things and why it will affect your O.W.L.’s and N.E.W.T.’s_

And the only book he ever writes is called, “ _Hogwarts: A Survival Guide”_

He includes a scaled down version of the Marauders Map, a version that only shows the user when they activate a pin. He writes how each teacher grades, what they find interesting worth an O and which reference books they like better than the rest. (He might have cheated a bit with foreknowledge, but Fred and George did it first.) He puts in the secret routes, the secret passageways and the hidden rooms that have been forgotten for years sans the Marauders.

Lastly, he makes a survival kit. It has, a collapsible tent, a bag with the Undetectable Extension Charm, a weeks worth of non-perishable food, a Potions set geared towards medicine and a booklet with different chapters on cooking charms, cleaning charms, warding charms and trapping jinxes.

He knows it’s not complete yet, but he has thirty-seven more years to go before he can make a very comprehensive survival kit.

.

* * *

.

Harrison is staring around his third house, the one located in Central London, wondering what to do with it, when he receives another letter from the same enterprising orphan who kick-started his Orphanage Business in the first place.

“Let’s place a library here,” he announces to Fern, staring at the three bedrooms he knows he won’t use at all. “And I’ll add in an Undetectable Extension Charm, maybe to make it two times larger.”

Fern gives him a look. The elf had quickly learned how large his plans went and adjusted accordingly.

“Alright, maybe I’m being modest. Let’s make it eight times larger. I’m going to need the space, especially since I’m going to be copying all the books in the Hogwarts Library and the Room of Requirement anyway,” Harrison sighs.

Maple coughs discreetly behind him and Harrison amends the statement with, “You’re going to be copying it for me, yes thank you Maple for reminding me.”

Thankfully, the owl arrives before his own house-elves could gang up on him and make him feel ridiculous.

.

“You asked for a meeting, kid?” Harrison says instead of greeting him.

The boy, a little more filled out and scowling a lot less, looks better. But there is a crease on his brow that tells Harrison that this child had problems. Enough that it left him with a permanent wrinkle on his brow. (He should know, since it took a while to lose frown lines after the war.)

“My names Jason,” he corrects. “And I’m going to ask your help. Because you’re not stupid.”

Harrison’s eyebrows tick up a centimeter. He wants to demand what the hell that means, before he realizes that yes, at that age, all adults are stupid. Because their concerns were too large and their eyes wandered too far. Children watched their feet and worried about their next meal.

“Thank you,” Harrison manages, dry as the Sahara. “And how may I help?”

Jason doesn’t sip his tea peacefully, but he does fidget by breaking his cookie into pieces and eating it like a chicken, piece by piece. All the while, he talks.

“I’m going to Hogwarts in next year,” the boy says. “And I’ve got a little sister in the orphanage too. We haven’t got a penny to our names and everything we own is from someone else’s. I’ve seen it before, you know. My little sister doesn’t care, but poor kids don’t survive happy in the school.”

Harrison listens and parses through the rant. The poor child clearly needed to let it out.

“I’ll give an allowance at the start of every year of Hogwarts,” he says, cutting into the rant. “I’ll pay for everything you can ever need at school.”

“Yeah?” Jason says, eyes brightening like starlight. “Everything, even the robes and stuff?”

Harrison allows a smile. He’s not in front of the Wizengamot or manipulating the Minister. He can afford to be soft to a child. “Everything. In return, you must get into the top ten of the class rankings per subject. Per subject that places you second to fifth, you’ll get ten galleons. First place gets you one hundred galleons. If you manage all that while on a club, that will have an added twenty galleons per ranking.”

Jason’s face is a study in relief, glee and amazement.

“Mr. Peters,” the boy says softly. “All that, won’t it be expensive?”

Harrison feels immensely fond of the boy. “You can repay me by being an amazing wizard. We must always share what we have.”

Jason had one last question though.

“What happens if we…if we can’t place on the tenth?” he asks, counter-checking. Harrison remembers vividly checking for possible loopholes. All of a sudden, he wants firewhisky.

“If not,” he sighs. “If not, against all odds, then we will have to broker another deal. For example, you can work for me in the summers. But I will not cut off money support, not unless I can see you can already support yourself without problems.”

The boy leaves, but not before hugging him tight enough to make his ribs creak.

“Fern,” he says softly. “Can you send a message to the orphanages? I shall write the letter.”

The house-elf places a hand on his shoulder in comfort before giving him the parchment and quill.

.

* * *

.

The child’s problem makes Harrison pause from focusing on the rapid rise of his Muggle Fresh Food Super Store. (It is getting a name, which makes Harrison laugh. His store is where all restaurant owners shop in. There is such a fight over his produce that he is opening the store earlier and earlier to compensate for the food rush.)

Because the Orphanage only kept children until they hit seventeen. Logically, they would still be safe until sixth year, but most of them wouldn’t survive N.E.W.T.’s with that burden hovering over their shoulders.

“Logically,” he muses out loud. “If we give them a place to stay until they get a job…that would be the most ideal thing. A support base until they can stand on their own. That’s how families work after all.”

Subconsciously, he starts rearranging his food and pauses when the image appeals to him.

“Affordable housing!” he remarks with glee. “That could work. It depends on their circumstances. And it wouldn’t be charity!” He had, after all, learned quickly that charity burned. No matter how easily charity was given, the one who received often didn’t like it. (Pride, really…though he really couldn’t talk, given that he didn’t like charity too.)

Maple, who had quickly learned the value of being a sounding board, nods slowly, doing her best to look dubious.

Harrison accepts the look and sighs. “Alright, maybe there need to be some sub clauses, but yes, affordable housing. Where in Merlin’s name do I put it?”

.

He finds where to put his affordable housing, a few blocks from Diagon Alley, a muggle condominium had fallen into disrepair and all its owners had sold their units.

Harrison buys everything with a smile, not even wincing at the amount the greedy buggers put in. The few that try to con him get a sharp smile that threatened disembowelment. Politely, of course, because he wasn’t a barbarian.

He asks around his army of house-elves on who had the experience in decorating houses tastefully. He finds three and assigns them to work on the building, expanding the rooms and adding a couple more space. He knows most people don’t like living alone and would need extra bedrooms.

Single bedrooms turn into five bedrooms with a flick of his wand. Kitchens and pantries are added in, as well as a large bathtub and laundry area.

It’s practically a luxury and Harrison makes sure to keep it sparsely furnished. People would be uncomfortable if they couldn’t decorate the space for themselves. He knew that too.

He leaves the house-elves to the painting and the tiling, content with the knowledge that it was taken care of. He had several contracts to make.

.

* * *

.

Harrison decides to charge the rent to five sickles a month.

It is incredibly cheap and the wizarding lawyer writing it down for him into proper forms looks at him funny.

However, he doesn’t need the money urgently and he knows that the children will benefit from having a stable roof over their heads.

He advertises his building in the Daily Prophet and is immediately bombarded by people in need. Affordable Housing hadn’t been a thing in the Wizarding World.

“Fuck,” Harrison curses. “I might need an actual human assistant.

Fern looks at him and Harrison resumes looking at the applicants. He stalls at one name he knows.

“Is that…Alphard Black?” Harrison whispers in shock.

**Author's Note:**

> ....And I ran out of steam here.
> 
> I'm cleaning up my old PC, and found my old writing folder in the docs. Man, I was really productive back then, wasn't I?
> 
> Comments please!


End file.
